Call Me Yente and Die
by Spitfireness
Summary: Alternate season one ending, Paris has an epiphany and she comes out of the Trory closet, using her powers for good. UPDATED.
1. Parts 1-3

Call Me Yente and Die **Title**: Call Me Yente and Die  
**Author**: Nes  
**Spoilers**: Completely spoiled.  
**Vague Summary**: Paris has an epiphany and she comes out of the Trory closet, using her powers for good.  
**Notes**: There is show dialogue written by Amy Sherman-Palladino interspersed with my own. All dialogue used was taken from the transcripts available at gilmore-girls.net, God bless the transcribers for they shall inherit the earth.  
**Disclaimer**: Not mine! Not mine! Well, Josh is and so is the secuity camera.  


**Part One**

He just looked so sad. 

His eyes were so -blue, of course, but blue before it's about to rain and not blue...when the rainbows are out and the birds are singing... 

She shakes her head to clear it, she thinks about this too much. 

She watches him shift uncomfortably on the piano bench, his long fingers rolling tunelessly over the instrument keys. 

Suddenly his back stiffens and he lifts his hands from the piano. He looks up and the blue's a little brighter with hope, but still sad. 

The reason why appears. _She_ slides in next to him, somehow not tripping and not falling and not wrinkling her dress or embarrassing herself at all. She does it unconsciously, naturally and he can tell. 

His spine relaxes as she begins to speak, small hands moving in easy gestures. He's too busy being fascinated by her to be uncomfortable or sad. 

His eyes have gone soft and their bodies have shifted, closing space. They lean in. It's like their mouths have been molded, made for this. Kissing. Coaxing. It goes on forever. 

Forever ends quickly. 

She pulls away. There are tracks of tears streaming down her porcelain face. You can tell he wants to kiss them away, but his eyes are still mazed with want, with love before he registers that she's fled. 

His eyes are still blue. But it's worse. The pain is obvious, as if it is raining now. He just looks so sad. 

But then he raises one hand to his lips -it's the hand that had been at the small of her back. He touches his mouth. He smiles. 

*** 

It's the kiss that finally gets to her. 

It's the anvil that falls on her head, realigns her thinking. 

They looked good together. 

And so because Paris was the kind of girl who dealt with reality -who made facts her friend, she made a decision that changed her life. 

"Give me the tape, Madeline." 

"What?" The brunette was still lounging on the couch, munching on popcorn. 

"Going to destroy all evidence so you can live in the land of denial," Louise said cattily. She, too, was eating popcorn. "But I thought we could have a big showing, you know? This tape could be really useful." 

Madeline nods. 

Paris walked to the VCR, "Do you have any other copies?" 

Madeline shakes her head, "Kara hasn't run to the market for tapes yet. I was going to do it tomorrow." 

"Good," Paris said as she yanked the cassette out of the player and broke it over knee. Then she proceeded to pull the tape out in streamers. 

It felt good. Cathartic even. 

"Why'd you do that?" Louise said. 

"I'm leaving," Paris answered. 

When she got into the Porsche, she began to drive aimlessly and in silence. She liked to drive but she hasn't learned how to work the stereo controls yet. The car was new. She used to drive one of her dad's old Mercedes, but her mom threw that out with everything else. 

Paris sighed mournfully; she really missed Spot. It was Spot because of the coffee stain in the backseat from when she was learning how to drive and she had braked too hard at a cross and her dad's cup had gone flying- 

So, the kiss. 

*** 

Madeline had been especially hyper this morning when she invited Louise and Paris over. "A surprise," she'd sang. 

Madeline had made a big deal of it. The cook had made popcorn (garlic, no butter, no salt). 

The picture on the big screen was a little grainy. Black and white. 

"It's from the security cameras," Madeline explained as she fast-forwarded the tape. 

"Oh, god," Paris said. "Don't tell me you invited us here for amateur porn night." 

"No, no. It's good." 

And then there was Tristan. At the piano, looking sad. 

Her heart wobbled. Funny how she knew what shade of blue his eyes were even with the film being black and white. 

And then there was Rory. Looking sad, but also beautiful in a way Paris never would. 

*** 

"Damn," Paris cursed. More to break the silence than to indicate anger or frustration. 

Because she wasn't. Either. She felt...something new. 

Acceptance, relief. Whatever. It felt good. 

Her mother's instinctive reaction would have jealousy, resent. 

But Paris didn't resent Rory. The grades and threat to her top standing, she was still pissed about but competition was good. Paris fed off competition; it helped her keep an edge. 

Tristan was another matter. Was never hers. Was never going to be hers. 

There'd been hope at first when his interest at Rory peaked past the usual New Girl stage. Paris had thought, we're not so different. Driven, smart, not slutty. Maybe Tristan's trying out a new kind of girl. Maybe I'll be next. 

She knew, now, that wasn't going to happen. Not when Tristan had finally found a chink in Rory's armor. 

But Rory ran away- 

The idiot. 

She was surprised when she laughed. She didn't laugh often. But it was just so funny. Little Miss Perfect - Queen of Stars Hollow was smart, almost as smart as Paris but she didn't see. She didn't see at all. 

And it made it easier for Paris to like the girl. She wasn't perfect, she was Clueless. 

The laughing thing got easier. People in the lane beside her moved further away from the maniacally laughing wild girl. 

When the hell did she acquire a sense of humor? 

She laughed for the duration of her drive, at ease with herself for the first time. 

**Part Two**

Monday at school was good. 

She'd had her interview with Josh, the current student editor of The Franklin. He'd commented on her good mood, her laugh. "You want to be the editor, you have to have a sense of humor." 

He'd smiled and Paris knew, she had a sense about these things, that in was in the bag. She had the job. 

As if to affirm, her locker had opened easily on the first try. She twirled the dial again experimentally before grabbing her books. 

"Wow, they raise the wage for French Soda monitors?" Rory asked. 

"And how," she smiled. "Where's Tristan?" 

Rory looked around wildly. "Why would I know where Tristan is?" 

'Ah, so Rory was still a card-carrying member of Oblivious-R-Us. And, also a charter member of Denial Land.' 

"Just wondering why he and Summer aren't sucking face in front of our lockers." 

"Oh." Rory looked down. "Well, they broke up. At the party. After you left." 

Paris knew that. Madeline and Louise had told her. She brushed it off, "Interesting." 

"Sure it is. Call the Post." Rory closed her locker and fell into step with Paris. "So did you do the homework for gov?" 

Dumb question, Paris thought. She refrained from saying, 'Feeling a little disoriented from smooching in other people's houses? Keeping you off your game?' She was rather proud of her restraint. 

"Yes." Paris opened her binder to reveal a crisp, double-spaced and typed report. 

"You have a personal watermark?" Rory said. 

"It's just the family crest, no big deal." Paris shrugged. 

"That's...kinda neat." Rory smiled as they walked into class together, eliciting looks from Madeline and Louise. 

They sat beside each other so Paris had a prime seat when Tristan walked into class. 

She was surprised that she didn't feel any palpitations. She'd thought letting go of her crush would be more difficult, more prolonged. 

Tristan was a different story. His crush was prevalent as ever. He cast Rory a longing look before switching his face to indolence and taking his seat two rows behind. Rory never even noticed. In fact, Rory sat stock still, looking the other way as if the mole on Mr. Galt's nose wasn't something they'd all seen before. 

Class began and so did the marathon note-taking. She felt holes in the back of her head. Well, on the right side. She paused in her writing to turn around. Yes, Tristan was staring at Rory. 

How come she'd never noticed this? 

Why didn't Rory? 

Oh, that's right. Because Rory's an idiot. 

"Miss Gellar?" 

"I'm sorry. Will you repeat the question?" 

"Find your group, Miss Gellar. They'll fill you in." 

Rory looked at her quizzically. "We're in group three. Come on." 

Rory sat down while Paris grabbed her books. Two seats were left in the circle. Paris saw Tristan speaking to the teacher and then making a beeline for their group. One seat next to Madeline, the other next to Rory. 

Paris smiled evilly. 

She slid into the seat next to Madeline, leaving the spot open for Tristan. 

"Can I trade with you, John?" Rory said to the boy on the other side of Paris. 

"Too late for musical chairs, Rory," Paris said. "We have to maximize our work time not play party games." 

Rory blanched at the word party. 

When Tristan arrived, Rory looked away. "Can I trade seats with you, John?" 

"Did you not hear what I just told Rory," Paris said. "No preferential treatment. You two are stuck together." 

Paris ran the rest of the hour efficiently while playing the amused observer of Rory and Tristan's Polka of Avoidance. Tristan would look at Rory, and then look away. Rory would look at Tristan and then look away. You could set it to music. 

She couldn't resist, "So in addition to the different political branches, we'll also need a King and Queen. Rory, Tristan, what about you? 

The look on his face was priceless. He almost dropped his pen. "Us?" 

"Oh," Rory did drop her pencil. 

Tristan noticed because he noticed everything even remotely connected to Rory. "No." 

"Yes, no," Rory affirmed. 

Oh, that's kind of sweet, Paris thought. He doesn't want to pressure her. Too bad. "Why?" 

Tristan groped for an answer, "Because..." 

"I just don't want to be queen," Rory inserted. 

"Me either." Paris looked at his curiously. "King -I don't want to be king." 

"What about you?" Rory pointed at Paris. "You be queen." 

'What about me,' Paris thought. 'Tristan doesn't look at like I'm the Aida to his Ramades. Wait, they both died. Oh, well, you two won't get off that easy.' 

Paris deflected, "I'm going to be head of Parliament. I can't be queen." 

"Be both." 

Paris could see the desperation in her eyes. This was fun. "I can't be both." 

"Why not? It's our government." 

Paris saw Tristan flinch. It would hurt for your crush to be fighting so hard. 

"It's not done that way," Paris said. 

"It can be though, let's vote." 

Paris knew that if she let them vote, Tristan -poor, misguided Tristan- would vote the way Rory wanted. 

They were both idiots. 

"Rory," she said warningly 

"Henry VIII started a new church when the old one wouldn't allow divorce." 

"He also cut off his wife's head. Is he still your role model?" 

"I'm just saying we have the opportunity to make any kind of government we want here. 

"Why won't you be queen?" Paris dared her to say it was because of Tristan. The lady doth protest too much, Paris thought. 

"I'll be queen," Madeline interrupted. 

Paris elbowed her surreptitiously. 

"There. Make Madeline queen." 

"Fine, you're queen. Tristan's king." Like it matters, Paris thought. Rory did like Tristan. Paris could tell now. 

*** 

Paris caught up with Rory in the hallway, "Question?" 

"Okay." 

"What's up with you and Tristan?" 

"What do you mean?" 

Paris knew better than to expect a straight answer. "You just seem weird around each other." 

Rory shook her head, "Nope, no weirder than usual." 

Paris pressed on, "I disagree." 

"You usually do." 

"I think it's strange that you don't wanna be queen." 

"You know not all girls want to be queen, Paris. Even Barbie ended up being a stewardess." Paris decided to let Rory go with that weak attempt at evasion. They spoke for awhile before Paris left for her car. 

"Hey, Paris," Joshua called out to her. 

"Hi," she waited. 

"Just between you and me, you're the best candidate." 

"Really, thanks." 

"I'll enjoy being your lackey." 

"My lackey? What are you talking about?" 

"You didn't expect me to quit the staff, did you?" He laughed. "I'm only a junior, I'll still be here next year." 

"Then why-" 

"You can only be editor once. My glory days are coming to a close. Yours are well-nigh." 

Paris saw something out of the corner of her eye. Tristan. Rory. Speaking. Interesting. 

"Still pining for DuGrey?" 

"What? No." She continued to watch them interact awkwardly, pushing a notebook between themselves. She wished she could hear what they were saying. 

She vaguely noticed Joshua's hand on her shoulder. 

"Yeah, I'll see you later," Paris said. 

**Part Three**

Paris woke up in high spirits. Her mom was out on a date/vacation so she had the house to herself. Well, herself, Jamaica the maid, Madrid the driver, and Oslo the cook. (Her mother's love of place-names as first-names extended to the hired help.) But the aroma of Oslo's special poached eggs and blueberry-jam crepes wafted up to her room and Paris generously decided that she liked the staff today. 

Plus, she had an assignment due that she thought could be very successful. She had the top three sophomores in her group after all. She grinned, nothing satisfied like academic success. 

She'd read the manual last night so when she got into the car, she popped in her brain music sampler cd and took the top down. 

Louise and Madeline were already there sniping. Typical, she thought. 

"Hey, Paris," Madeline greeted her. "Louise hates you." 

Nothing could get to her today. "You'll thank me when you get into Sarah Lawrence." 

Rory came in and Paris ignored Madeline's retort. 

'She brought clown donuts? And coffee,' Paris thought. 'Well, none for me because- she brought me decaf with soy milk. Rory makes it entirely too difficult to dislike her.' 

"Thanks," Paris said. 'I would never do that. I don't know what kind of coffee Rory likes. I don't even know what kind of coffee Louise likes and I've been hanging out with Louise since kindergarten.' 

"Ladies," Tristan strode in and the extra bounce in his step did not elude Paris. "Paris, can I talk to you for a sec?" 

Intrigued, Paris followed him into the hallway. 

Tristan leaned against the row of lockers, one foot set flat against a door. His eyes closed momentarily. When they fluttered open, he looked her in the eyes and let the customary lazy smile overtake his features. "So, Paris, what are you doing tonight." 

"Studying," she narrowed her eyes. 

"How about you put off studying for a couple of hours and come out with me for a little fun," he leaned in but it wasn't the way he'd leaned into Rory. 

"No." 

Tristan almost fell over. She could hear him mutter under his breath, "Two for two." 

Talk about a test of being over somebody, Paris thought. 

"What about we do something as friends?" 

"How come everyone just wants to be friends with me," he blurted out. 

"Hardly," Paris said. She gave him an encouraging smile. 

"But you have to go out with me." 

"Why?" 'Hmm,' she thought. 'Panic, High color. Show of emotion. Must have something to do with Rory.' 

"Because then she'll think I didn't try hard enough." 

There was no need to say who she was. 

"Wait. You mean Rory told you to ask me out." Paris couldn't help it. She laughed. 

Tristan looked at her confusedly. She laughed even harder. 

She knew she should be offended, that it could be construed as Rory offering Paris castoffs. But the whole scenario was absurd. Once upon a time, Paris loved Tristan. Tristan loved Rory. But now Paris didn't love Tristan, and Rory did love Tristan -or at least liked him enough to get sweaty palms, Paris had seen the stains on her lit notes. The point was, now Rory and Tristan liked each other but Tristan was asking out Paris because Rory asked him to. And of course Tristan was going to do whatever Rory said because Tristan liked her, and he wanted to Rory to think he was sweet. 

They were both idiots. 

They deserved each other. 

When she had regained her composure, she looked at Tristan. He was equal parts insulted-ego and kicked-puppy. 

"Why on earth did Rory suggest that you ask me out?" 

"Because she wants me to date someone of substance." 

"She called a halt to the slut brigade?" Paris was too fascinated to be tactful. 

"Full stop. A girl who's smart, driven, and has ambition." He was obviously quoting. 

"While I'm flattered that the two of you think I rank, did it ever occur to you that Rory also fulfills all those requirements?" She pressed. 

She pressed too hard and his expression gew pained. "It occurred to one of us." 

"I won't ask which," Paris said. "But does the offer for tonight still stand? As friends, I mean?" 

He shrugged. "I've never really had a girl friend." He paused. "A friend who is a girl." 

"I'd be honored to be your first." 

He smirked. 

"Shut up or I'll make Rory queen and tell her you love her." 

Tristan gaped. 

Paris hesitated. "I should tell you something if we're going to be friends. I know about the kiss." 

"What kiss?" 

"Madeline's security camera taped every second of heavy breathing." 

"So Madeline-" 

"And Louise knows, too." 

"How comes it's not all over school?" 

"I have my ways." 

"Well, thanks, you are a good friend." He stuck his hands in his pockets, looked at his shoes, then at Paris again. "So can we talk about Rory? Because you're the only one who knows-" 

"That you like her. A lot," Paris emphasized. "Only because it's distracting you two and we need to get an A on this project." 

"It's distracting her, too?" 

"Later, loverboy," Paris said. "We've already lost two minutes of scheduled work time." 

"Taskmaster," he teased without any overt sensuality. Paris appreciated it, she turned to walk into the classroom. "So seven tonight?" 

"I'll pick you up." 

"Modern woman." He hesitated. "Uh, Paris?" 

"Time is GPA points, Tristan." 

"Do you have the tape?" 

"It's safe, I broke it. There will be no dubs of you and Rory on the piano bench circulating the Chilton black market." 

He stuck his hands back in his pocket, disappointed. "Oh. I kind of just wanted a copy. A keepsake." 

"You're sick, Tristan." She gave him one last look before going into the classroom. 

*** 

"So how'd your date with Tristan go?" Rory was waiting by the lockers. 

"Fun. I wore a fabulous little top." 

"Seriously?" 

"The date was fun but no on the top." 

"So when's the next date?" 

"You tell me Rory? You have our wedding planned, too?" 

"What are you talking about," she blushed. 

"Never mind," Paris said. "We've decided to just be friends." 

Joshua came up to Paris then and said, "Can you be at the Newspaper office after school?" 

"Sure," Paris answered easily. 

Joshua smiled, "I'll see you then." 

Rory whistled. "So do you need one?" 

"One what?" 

"A fabulous little top?" 

"Why would I?" 

"Because that guy-" 

"Business. He's a junior." 

Rory looked like she was about to argue, then stopped. "So we're almost done with this government project. Do you want to go shopping with me?" 

"Point A to Point Z in about five seconds. What are you talking about?" 

"Well, me and my mom." 

"I remember Lorelei." 

"We're going to be in Hartford Saturday at the Sun Plaza. To shop. Do you want to come? Since we're sort of friends and now and my mom's good at the fabulous little top thing. Not that you couldn't do it with Madeline and Louise but we're sort of friends now and-" 

"Okay," Paris surprised herself. 

"Hey, Tristan," Rory says over my shoulder. Paris guessed Tristan was right, asking her out had put him back in Rory's good graces. 

"Hello, my two favorite ladies." He smirks and puts an arm around each of them, "Shall we go to class?" 

Rory shrugged him off and exchanged a look with Paris. 

"We shall," Paris said and they walked off 

Rory looked over her shoulder at Tristan, "Well, are you coming?" 

*** 

To be Continued 


	2. Part 4

Call Me Yente and Die

**Author's Note**: This next part is a complete diversion from the show. We have not yet gotten to the episode, "P.S. I Lo..." 

**Part Four**

The government project came and went and everyone involved earned an A. 'Naturally,' thought Paris. 'It was my group.' 

The Polka of Avoidance hadn't stopped, it had just mutated into something more like...a mazurka. Paris shook her head free of the analogy, dance was not her forte. 

In any case, neither Rory nor Tristan had confessed fellow feelings of admiration. It was still look, turn away while the other wasn't looking. Except that now Paris was used as a shield. She didn't mind so much, she found it amusing. She liked to think of it a study of human behavior. 

Paris swung her legs from the decorative wall in the Court Mall. It was week three of the Gellar-Kim-Gilmore Hartford Mall tour, a name instituted by Lorelei. She liked Lorelei, she had from the night of the Bangles concert. And Lane was nice, very enthusiastic and willing to fill in any awkward silence. She and Rory maintained a rivalry slash friendship that Tristan did not intrude on even though he was tied with the both of them for highest cumulative grade point average. Tristan was an odd point since Rory and he did not spend time with each other outside of school, but both spent time with Paris. 'It's like I'm their child and they've got joint custody.' She didn't mind that too much either. Intelligent company was refreshing from her peer group. 

Time spent with Tristan was a revelation. The would not have made a good couple. Way too much alike each other and way too much like their own parents. But friends was good even he spent about ninety to nine-five per cent of his time mooning over Rory. 

There was no blatant mooning on Rory's part. But that didn't cause Paris any concern. 

She'd seen Rory's knuckles turn white when Lola Rockford had given Tristan's butt an affectionate and exploratory squeeze. Dean, Schmene. 

"Hey, Paris!" Lane waved as they walked towards her. 

Paris waved back. "Let's see a movie today." 

Lane frowned, but Rory said, "Okay." 

They fell into step on the way to the mall theater. In a tremendous exercise of synchronized walking, Lorelei and Lane sandwiched Paris between them. 

"I thought we were finally going to get you to buy something today," Lorelei said. "Don't think you can escape it." 

"Just follow my lead, okay," Paris said. 

Lane and Lorelei made small o's of amazement with their mouths. Paris had a plan. And if they knew Paris it was an evil plan. 

The two high-fived and giggled behind Paris' back as Paris caught up with Rory. 

"What's the sudden urge for cinema?" Rory asked. 

"Johnny Depp." 

"I didn't know you were a fan of Johnny Depp." 

"Twenty-One Jump Street is my secret vice," Paris said by way of vague explanation. 

"You can't tell at all. You look completely normal." 

"What's a Johnny Depp fan supposed to look like?" 

Rory paused before pointing, "Like them." 

Two girls wearing tight flares and halter tops were standing by the theater entrance. Both had heavy jewelry and heavier make-up. They probably had a combined age of twenty-two. 

"Middle school girls," Lane said disparagingly. 

"Yeah," Lorelei joined in. "We were never that young." 

Rory looked at her mother. 

"Just going with the flow. Sorry." 

The two girls in question began to flutter and giggle uncontrollably. 

"Who put a fox in their henhouse?" Lorelei said. 

"More like a snake," Rory said. "There's Tristan." 

Sure enough, the middle school girls were headed towards Tristan. 

"That's not Tristan," Lane said. 

"I have got to back to high school," Lorelei sighed, "if that's how they build them these days. 

He caught Paris' eye and mouthed 'Save me.' 

"It is," she confirmed, "and he's raising the white flag. Let's go save him." 

Lorelei looked at her daughter, "You never told me he was cute." 

"So?" 

Paris whipped around and smirked, "So you think Tristan's cute?" 

"So do you." 

"A long time ago." Paris smiled mysteriously. 

As they approached Tristan and his fan club, they could see him bobbing his head up and down. "I do have a girlfriend. I do. Tell them, Paris." 

"He does, she's right there." 

Paris pointed at Rory. 

*** 

Which is how Lane, Lorelei, Rory, Paris, and Tristan ended up in the third row of theater two watching "Blow." Before the first preview ended, Paris got up. "I need pretzels." 

She gave Lorelei and Lane each a significant look. 

Within ten minutes, Lorelei and Lane had met her by the refreshment stand. She was smiling smugly. 

"You do realize we've just left my daughter alone in a dark theater with someone she calls 'The Evil One' when she's being nice." 

Paris waved her hand dismissively. "She can thank me later." 

Lane cupped her hands together to form a megaphone, "Ladies and gentlemen, this set-up has been presented by Paris Gellar, matchmaker extraordinaire." 

Lorelei laughed, "How very Fiddler on the Roof of you." 

Paris glared at the older woman, "Call me Yente and die." 

Lorelei only loped her arm around Paris and beamed, "Onward ho, bebe's awaits!" 

*** 

"My mother says the color pink makes my head look small." 

"Interesting," Lorelei pursed her lips. "I grew up with my mother telling me my head was unusually large." 

"Maybe it's something they teach at the Hartford Wives' School." 

Lane shook her head, "Novices. Now forget about the color and try shirt on." 

Paris sought to distract her, "So I heard Henry Park mention you the other day." 

"Really?" Lane jumped. "Tell me everything!" 

Lane was sweet, harmless. Paris wondered what they put in the water at Stars Hollow that made them that way. Louis and Madeline were her closest friends until now but with them, everything had an ulterior motive. Paris knew she herself was the same. She never did anything if she wasn't going to benefit. 

"Uh uh," Lorelei crossed her arms. "You can talk from the dressing room." 

She pushed the light pink butterfly sleeved blouse into Paris' arms and frogmarched her to the dressing rooms. 

"Henry now, please?" 

"He was complaining about the Bio final and Jung's latest paper. He said it was too much work but when he finished he was going to celebrate by asking you out." 

"Ooh." 

"Don't get your hopes up. With Chilton's load, he's booked until May." Paris could practically see Lane fall in on herself through the changing room door. "I mean, I'm sure he's only waiting because he wants...to concentrate on you. Fully." 

"You think?" 

"Nice save, Paris," Lorelei said not unkindly. "Now get your cute butt out here." 

Paris took a deep breath. 

Dead silence. 

"Wow. That top was made for you. Look at yourself in the mirror." 

And it was like seeing another person. 

Her hair had broken free of the tight bun to float around her face. The top likewise floated and the scoop of the neck made her look all delicate...and dear god, she had a waist. 

"This _is_ a fabulous little top." Paris turned around and peered over her shoulder at her reflection. 

Lane sighed. "I need some ugly friends." 

Paris beamed at the declaration of friendship. "Is this why people go shopping?" 

"The shiny, glow-y feeling?" 

Paris nodded. 

"Absolutely." 

"It was never this fun with my mother," she said sadly. 

Lorelei put her arm around Paris and lay her chin on the girl's shoulder. "Sometimes it's like that, honey." 

Paris looked at herself again. 

"I think we've created an ego," Lane said playfully. 

"It's just the shirt," Paris said. "It's like a miracle shirt. Clothes don't look like this on me. Ever." 

"Ooh, makeover!" 

Paris flinched. "Madeline and Louise tried that already." 

Lorelei had an idea that Madeline and Louise had probably gone the kamikaze-makeover route. "We'll be gentle." 

Lane was smiling thoughtfully. "You know that blazer? Do you have to wear that?" 

"It's a Chilton blazer." 

"But you can wear other things, right?" 

Paris shrugged, "We get some choices, it's not the gulag. Plaid skirt, white or blue blouse. Knee highs, pantyhose, or stockings. The blazer or a sweater in navy or grey." 

"What about the bow?" 

"Required." 

"Oh," Lane's face fell. Then she smiled. "Well, still." 

"Still what," Paris said suspiciously. 

"We can get you new uniforms." 

Paris rolled her eyes. 

"Look in the mirror," Lane said. "The girl in that mirror would say no to shoulder pads." 

"But would she make phi beta kappa?" 

"I don't know. What's that?" Lane shook her head. "It doesn't matter. They're just clothes. It doesn't change your personality or drag down IQ." 

"Well, if they're just clothes, why are you making such a big deal out it?" 

"Because you were preening and it made you happy. And I'm your friend so I want you to-!" Lane growled in frustration. "Because clothes can make you feel good. They can be expressive. Look at me. I like music so I wear a lot of band shirts. But when I change back into my convent clothes, I'm still me." 

"Well, how are my clothes supposed to be expressive if you make me over?" 

"Us! It's not like I'm going to point and tell you to buy something. You do get a say. Don't be silly, besides it's your money." 

"Oh." 

Lorelei stood in the background and smiled when the look of revelation overtook Paris' face. Paris might not have bear-hugged Lane, but the sentiment was there. She stepped forward, "Let's go to Daisy Maze, I saw some monkey earrings that just screamed 'I'm the valedictorian, nanny nanny boo boo!'" 

*** 

"Are those...hippos smiling?" 

Rory leaned over the table to peer at Paris' ears. 

"I couldn't talk her into the monkeys," Lorelei said. 

"The hippos are good," Rory said. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the bags at their feet, "There better be some pretzels in there." 

"What?" 

"Pretzels. You said you were going to get pretzels." She poked the ear in the direction of her mother and Lane. "You said you had to go to the bathroom. And you said you had to report to the warden." 

Lorelei shrugged, "The mall sang it's siren song. We couldn't help it." 

Lane nodded, "We have no will power." 

Paris only smirked. 

"You've got that smirk down pat. You know you've been spending too much time with Tristan." 

"Jealous?" 

"No," Rory became flustered. "Why would I be jealous?" 

"Everyone who thinks Rory and Tristan-" 

Before Paris could finish the question, Lorelei and Lane raised their hands high in the air. 

Rory huffed. "Dean-" 

'Uh, oh,' Paris thought. 

Lane caught her eye and mouthed, "Later." 

"Oh," Lane said aloud, "Why don't we all go to my house. You can see the mauling bear. Maybe you'll want to buy it." 

Paris looked at her doubtfully. 

"Well," Lane continued. "You could just give us a fashion show." 

"How much does the mauling bear cost?" 

Rory rolled her eyes, "I wanna see the clothes. You owe me." 

"I think that it's the other way around." Paris rolled her eyes, "Besides, a fashion show? We've got a bio final coming up." 

"Give it a rest," Rory said. "We're sixteen. Let's be wild. I'll tell you what. Think about it like this. If you give me a fashion show, I won't be studying. You're bound to do better than me on the test and I'll be choking on your smarty pants dust." 

Paris pretended to mull it over. "Okay." 

*** 

"Do you want some chocolate? Coffee?" 

"No, I'm dairy free, but thank you." 

The small woman continued to prowl around Paris, "You have a boyfriend?" 

"No..." 

"What are your future plans?" 

"Cancer research, I want to be doctor." 

Mrs. Kim's head snapped in a crisp nod at the magic word, "Good. And you have clear skin. Very good. You may stay." 

Lane led the other two girls up to her room. 

"That's the nicest thing I've ever heard her say," Rory smiled. "Now I'm jealous of you. Mrs. Kim likes you; Lane makes you over-" 

"I'm not trying to steal your best friend," Paris said defensively. 

"Girls, girls, there is enough Lane Kim sidekick-goodness to go around." 

Paris gave her a sly look, "Is there enough for Henry, too?" 

Rory chimed in, "I think Lane wants to give him a different kind of goodness." 

Lane gasped. "You did not just say that." 

"I can say it, too, if it'll help you believe it," Paris offered. 

Rory narrowed her eyes, "So who do you want to give sweet Gellar goodness to? That junior?" 

"I don't know what you're-" 

"Oh, so you can dish it because you can't take it?" 

"You're one to talk, Mrs. DuGrey." 

"Dean-" 

"Whatever." Paris crossed her arms. "He's got floppy hair." 

"Ding ding!" Lane acted as the referee. "You," she pointed to Paris, "go change in the bathroom. You," she pointed to Rory, "go sit in the corner or pick out some music." 

Paris watched Rory pry up floorboards to reveal cds. "Why-" 

"Long story," Lane said, "I'll introduce you to my filing system after the fashion show." 

*** 

To be continued... 

[Previous Part][1]

   [1]: http://www24.brinkster.com/themonkeyworks/stories/yente1.html



	3. Part 5

h 

**Title**: Call Me Yente and Die  
**Author**: Nes  
**Email**: spitfireness@yahoo.com   
**Webpage**: The Monkeyworks  
**Spoilers**: Season One  
**Vague Summary**: Paris has an epiphany and she comes out of the Trory closet, using her powers for good.  
**Disclaimer**: Not mine! Not mine! Gilmore Girls is the property of the WB, Amy Sherman-Palladino, and other people I don't know and yet are objects of my appreciation. I do own Josh and the security camera, though. There is show dialogue written by Amy Sherman-Palladino interspersed with my own. All dialogue used was taken from the transcripts available at gilmore-girls.net, God bless the transcribers for they shall inherit the earth.  
**Notes**: I am veryvery sorry that I took so long to update this story. RL, as it tends to, interfered. I've been...weird. Damn that RL. In any case, I hope you like it and give me feedback. 

***

"Do you have any fresh fruit? And tea? Non-caffeinated?" 

The flannel-clan man gave Paris a second look and an approving grunt before turning to Rory. "See, this is nutrition. This girl will not have stunted growth." 

Rory took it good-naturedly. "I've never met a nutrition I didn't hate. Lay a burger and fries on me, Luke. Ooh, and introduce those fries to some cheese. Cheese fries sound great." 

"That does sound good, same for me," said Lane. 

"Do you know what that much cholesterol will do-," Luke and Paris began to say at the same time. 

Rory rolled her eyes, "She'll have a burger and cheese fries, too." 

Paris protested, "My mother would kill me." She narrowed her eyes. "Are you trying to kill me, Rory? You know I'm lactose intolerant." 

"Okay, eighty-six the cheese for the Dairy Queen." 

"My mother-" 

"And my mother will give you an award." 

"I'm not serving her against her will. As the owner of this establishment, I'm protecting her right to fresh fruit." Luke crossed his arms. 

Lane interrupted, "Why do you have cheese fries on the menu, if you don't want anyone to eat them?" 

Luke frowned. 

"A ha!" Rory said in triumph, as if it proved some point. 

Luke frowned deeper, before he turned back to the counter. Over his shoulder, he called, "Don't expect a refill on that coffee." 

Rory smiled gleefully at Paris. 

"Just don't expect me to pay for that." 

Rory spread her arms wide in an expression of generosity, "It's on me." 

Paris smiled back reluctantly. She found herself giving in a lot when she was around Rory and Lane. "You know you've got a real problem with peer pressure in this town." 

Lane sniffed convincingly, "I don't know what you're talking about. We're perfect. You love us. Don't you love us anymore, Paris? Par-is?" 

Paris shook her head in laughter, then frowned. "If by perfect, you mean voyeuristic, yes." 

"Oh, that's just Taylor and Miss Patty." Lane looked at the window and across the street. "They're the center of the town gossip mill. They're millers." 

"Why are they staring at me?" 

"You're new. It's all very exciting." Rory explained. "Within the next two minutes, seventy-five percent of Stars Hollow will know both your shoe size and what Hollywood starlet would play you in a movie." 

"Interesting," Paris said. The Stars Hollow variety of gossip was apparently less malicious than that of Hartford. Speaking of which, "So you ever get rid of those Johnny Depp fans?" 

Lane leaned forward to hear better. Rory rolled her eyes, "They sat right behind us. They were like vultures or hyenas. Some kind of predatory something." 

"Very technical term," Lane noted. "They didn't seem convinced you were Tristan's girlfriend. You ever clear that up for them?" 

Rory gave both girls a dead stare. "Yeah, I never thanked you for that, Paris." 

Paris imitated Rory's earlier gesture of open-handed generosity. "A friend in need is a friend, indeed. So did you help Tristan out with his need?" 

Rory blushed but protested. "Well, I never said I was his friend, did I?" 

Paris smiled gleefully. She would grant mercy to Rory and get the dirt from Tristan later. Her smile widened. There was dirt to be had! But then, of course there was. She was Paris Gellar, wasn't she? She succeeded at everything. Rory and Tristan would be kissing in a tree by the end of next week. 

Lane caught her eye, and Paris mouthed, "Later." 

Rory changed the subject. "So the clothes. They look good on you." 

Paris smiled shyly. Lane grinned openly in triumph. "I do good work." 

Rory continued innocently, "Josh will think you look hot." 

"I don't know what you're talking about. It's strictly business between us. He's the editor of the Franklin this year. I can introduce you to him if you still want to be on the paper staff." 

"Yes, thank you." Rory accepted but plowed on. "But I don't think he'll be giving me the same googly-eyes." 

"Googly eyes can be good," Lane said. 

Paris sighed. She wished they'd drop it. 

"Is he cute," Lane asked. 

"Very the nice guy from Sliding Doors. The one from The Mummy." 

"So, he's British?" 

"No," Rory said. "Adorable. Sweet. Respectably intellectual. Don't you think so, Miss Gellar." 

"He's not interested in me." 

"Ha. Girls can never tell when guys like them." 

She had a point there, Paris had to concede. But she wasn't going to say that outloud. She was saved from answering by the arrival of the food. 

"It's cooked with peanut oil, so it's not as damaging as Rory would have you believe." He put a kettle down on the table top. "Tea's raspberry. There's more of that and some apples and stuff, too." Luke said. 

"Thanks," Paris said over the mound of golden and crispy french fries. 

"No problem, kid. Just rub off on Rory, okay? Her mom's a-" 

Rory interrupted, "What do you think, Luke? A woman can never tell when a man really likes them, right?" 

Luke flustered and turned to Paris. "Whenever you're ready for that fruit." 

Lane said to Rory, "That was cruel." 

Rory shrugged and took a huge bite of hamburger slathered with ketchup. 

"He's very paternal," Paris said. 

Lane gave Rory a pointed look before giving Paris a curious one. "So are you interested? In this Josh guy?" 

"He's a really nice guy," she said. "He probably has a girlfriend, anyway." 

Lane grabbed onto the 'anyway' and didn't let go. "So you do like him." 

"Can any human really not like another?" 

"Ooh, you're evading." 

"What else is there to do in this one-horse town," Paris said, unashamedly evading and daring Lane to continue. 

Lane smiled smugly. But let Paris lead her away from the subject of Josh, Paris Super-Fan. "Well, we could watch Miss Patty's dance class. The second-years are doing a selection from Gypsy. Or listen to that weird guy with the guitar on the street corner. Or watch videos." 

Rory nodded approvingly, "There's always videos." 

***

When Paris got home, there were five messages on her answering machine. All from Tristan. 

Exhausted from a night of Stars Hollow hijinx, Paris debated calling him the next day. But then she remembered the way Rory hadn't been mean or sad or anything but amused, really, when Lane and Paris had talked about how floppy Dean's hair was. And the way Rory had acted when Tristan was brought into conversation was truly a revelation. All in all, things looked good so she dialed Tristan's number. 

He answered on the first ring. "DuGrey." 

"Hiya, Sparky. Been waiting by the phone." 

"No." Obviously, he was lying. "And Sparky?" 

"I've decided it suits you." 

"Did you get my messages?" 

"All five of them, yes." 

"Too much? Sorry." 

"No, forget it. It was cute," Paris said. 

"So, uh, where were you?" 

"Why? Worried? Going to give me a curfew?" 

"No. No, just curious. Hot date with Josh?" 

"What?" 

"You didn't think Rory mentioned it?" 

"Yes, speaking of Rory..." 

Paris couldn't tell if Tristan had taken a short moment to recap or had forgotten to breath in all the reminiscing. 

"I think," Tristan ventured, "that she might be open to me, now. More than friends. A little. I think she's getting over Dean." 

"Dean Shmene. He's got floppy hair." 

"You've got that encouraging thing down, Paris." 

"I do, don't I," she breezed. "So tell me what happened at the movies?" 

"You mean when you abandoned Rory into my clutches?" 

"Sure, you're the pirate king. Your clutches? There was clutching. Do tell." 

"Maybe not my clutches. A gentleman never tells." 

Paris snorted. 

"She let me put my arm around her." Tristan said it very quickly, as if it could have been taken back. 

"Clarify." 

"Those girls behind us-" 

"The ones undressing you with their eyes." 

"Paris!" 

"Aw, Poor Inexperienced Tristan. Is your infatuation making you modest?" 

"Anyway. The girls behind us must have really been getting on Rory's nerves because, well, she told me to put my arm around her. Lightly, of course. Shoulder only." 

"Ever so chastely," Paris agreed. "So she made the first move." 

"I think she did." He lapsed back into nostalgia. 

"So what are you going to do about it?" 

"Should I do anything?" 

"Of course! Ask her out!" 

"Do you think she'll say yes?" 

"Obviously, you two are perfect for one another," Paris gave Tristan a pep talk before suggesting, "I'll call Lane. She's Rory's best friend. She can give us some ideas." 

Tristan agreed to hold, while Paris switched to her other line. 

"Kim Residence." 

"Hello, Mrs. Kim. This is Paris Gellar. We met earlier. May I speak to Lane, please?" 

"It's very late." 

"I wanted to ask her about her Bible Camp. If it was...too late to register." 

"Hmm." Mrs. Kim put the phone down and called for Lane. 

Lane picked up, "I've got it, Mama." 

After Mrs. Kim hung up, Paris said, "Hey." 

"Hey back. What's up?" 

"I've got Tristan on the other line. I'm trying to convince him to ask Rory out. Help me." 

"Ooh," Lane cooed. "That's such a cool idea. PJ Harvey's going to be in Hartford next week. Rory loves PJ Harvey." 

"I'll tell him." 

"But the concert's sold out." 

Paris mulled it over. "Between me and him, we should be able to work something out." 

Lane sighed, "Rich folk." 

"Hey, we've all got our own unique sets of baggage." 

"True. What are you waiting for? Get back on the other line with Tristan then call me back." 

"So you think Rory will go for it?" 

"Well, duh. You should hear her complain about him. They're obviously crazy about each other." 

"That's what I keep saying." 


	4. Part 6

h 

**PART SIX**

Third period had rolled around and gone, and Paris was feeling footloose and fancy-free. Louise and Madeline had been kind about her subtle change of uniform and hairstyle in their own fashion. Her Physics teacher had complimented her on her research project. And she had absolutely destroyed her Latin pop quiz. She had conjugated the deponent verb like nobody's business. 

She put her stack of textbooks away. When she closed her locker, Josh was there and he was grinning. He held out a piece of folded paper to her. 

She took it gingerly, read, and looked up at him in surprise. 

"I hereby officially turn the reins of The Franklin over to you." 

"Oh, wow." She murmured as he gave her a friendly hug. 

"So, now that you've become editor, what are you going to do?" 

"I'm going to Disneyworld." 

Josh laughed. "No, Paris, seriously. Friday night-" 

Someone behind Paris, coughed politely. 

Josh paused, "Hello, DuGrey." 

A little annoyed, Paris turned around to Tristan. All annoyance fled at the smile on his face. 

"You got the tickets?" 

"I got the tickets," he confirmed. "PJ Harvy. Friday. Coliseum. Eight o' clock. All I need is the girl." 

"I'm excited.." 

"Me, too." He leaned against her locker. "I'm going to camp out here." 

"Do that." Paris turned back to Josh. "Now what were you saying?" 

"Uh, nothing. I'll talk to you later." He left. 

Paris turned back to Tristan. "I've got to go talk to Mr. Medina about the Henry James. Good luck, okay. Just remember to be confident." 

Tristan smirked in accordance. 

***

Rory was leaving Mr. Medina's classroom, a little shocked by what he had told her. He was talking to her mom again? 

Distracted, she hadn't noticed Summer zero-ing in on her. 

"Hey, Mary Magdalene." Summer greeted her with a smooch-ing noise. 

"Oh, hello." Rory, while familiar with the back of the other girl's head, had never actually spoken to the other girl. 

"So, we had you pegged wrong. You're the flavor of the month." 

"What? Excuse me," Rory tried to pass but Summer blocked her way. 

"I knew Tristan was faking being all worked about me and Austin in the bathroom. It was so uncharacteristic." 

"No? Are you kidding? He was totally upset." 

"And got over it really quick." Summer made another kissing noise. 

"What are you talking about? Look, I have to get to lunch." 

"Lunch? Is that code for making out with Tristan?" 

"No. We're just friends." 

"You can't pretend anymore, Mary. I know about the kissing at Madeline's party. Everybody knows." 

Rory was at a loss. Tristan had told? 

"You can go look in the boys bathroom. There's five stars by your name. We were all very impressed by your experience," Summer leered at her. "I really hadn't figured you for a video-tape-the-action girl, at all." 

"Video tape." 

"Uh huh." Summer patted her purse. "I'd lend you my copy but the soccer team's got it right now. I know. You can ask Paris where to get a copy. You're tight now, right?" 

"Paris?" 

"Long forehead. About so tall." Summer mimed a height indication. "Ta, now." 

Rory leaned against the lockers as Tristan's ex-girlfriend sashayed away. She was not going to cry. Or wallow. Or cry. 

Footsteps echoed in the hallway and Rory cringed a little closer to the wall. She didn't want to deal with anyone right now. She needed time to...think. 

Boys bathroom. Soccer team. Video tape. 

Or she could just cry. 

A kind hand was laid on her shoulder. A whisper. "Rory? Rory, are you okay." 

Half-processed emotions surged. Rory whipped around. 

She snarled. "Like you care. I thought you were my friend, Paris. Is this payback for something. I never understood what I did to you but I now see that it doesn't matter because you're always going to hate me." 

Paris backed away. "We are friends." 

"Video tape. Tristan. All over school. And, oh, probably going to hear about it at dinner with my grandparents." 

Paris colored as she pieced everything together. Her hand went to her mouth, it couldn't be. It was like a nightmare. An after school special. 

"I welcomed you into my town. My home. I gave you a clown donut. I really liked you. I guess you people are all the same. Spoiled, arrogant...it's like _Pretty in Pink_ and I'm freaking Molly Ringwald. I hope you and Tristan are proud of yourselves." 

Rory executed a neat twist of her heels and fled before Paris could apologize or even explain. 

A door opened and shut. "Paris? I thought I heard something out here. Did you need to see me?" 

Paris stammered. "Just about...Henry James. Daisy Miller. Turn of the Screw. Compare and contrast. Something came up. I'll ask later." 

She left the hall, turning in the opposite direction that Rory had. 

The bell for fourth period rang but Paris didn't care. She couldn't deal with Trigonometry right now. 

She locked herself into a stall in the second floor bathroom. Rory was upset. Understandably so. But it wasn't Paris' fault. She hadn't done anything wrong. It was all Madeline's stupid security camera's fault. Like they had anything anyone wanted to steal. 

Madeline. 

An outlet for her rage in mind, Paris left the bathroom to track down her 'friend.' 

She waited for Madeline outside her French class, pulling the girl to the side the moment she stepped out the door. 

"Paris," Madeline smiled. "Can I borrow your Bio notes from last year?" 

Paris didn't smile back. "The tape of Rory and Tristan. I thought you said you didn't have any copies." 

"I didn't." Madeline crossed her arms, using her notebook as a shield. "There are two cameras in that room. There was one from another angle." 

"But why did you use them?" Paris was at a loss. Madeline wasn't malicious by nature. 

"Why not?" Another voice interrupted. Louise. Now Louise was that mean. "A while ago you would have been all for taking down Snow-White Rory, but now she's got you painting her toe nails." 

Paris silenced Louise with a death glare. "Shut up. Do not mess with me." 

"It was a joke," Madeline giggled awkwardly. 

Paris leveled the other girl with a glare, too. "How many tapes are there?" 

"I made five. But I think other people made copies of those-" 

"Get them." 

"This is not a totalitarian state, Paris." Louis sneered. 

Slowly, Paris released her threat. "I've known you since the creche. I know everything about you. Do you want me to keep those secrets?" 

Louise huffed. "Uh, fine." 

Madeline lingered, "It's not that bad. I did a little editing. We cut off that part where Rory runs from the room crying and Tristan's just sitting there-" 

Tristan. Paris had forgotten about Tristan. Tristan, who was at least half in love with Rory and who was going to ask her to PJ Harvey. 

Crap. 

Paris gave one last death glare to Madeline and Louise, letting them know they were dismissed. And then she set to find Tristan to warn him that Rory was...to tell Tristan, just to do something. 

*** 

To be continued... 


	5. Part 7

Part Seven  
  
Paris mentally reviewed what she would tell Tristan when she found him:  
  
1. Hiya, Sparky. You know how you were going to ask Rory out? You might want to postpone that until after you get down on both knees and tell her yes, you knew that there had been a videotape of your only kiss but you had truly believed it was destroyed because Paris is usually thorough about these things. Tell her it's all a misunderstanding and that I'm really sorry, too.  
  
2. Hey, did you do the History homework? Oh, yeah, it was hard. By the way, Rory thinks we set her up as the amateur G-rated 8mm Porn Queen of the Chilton Black Market. She really hates us both. Really, really.   
  
3. We're buds and I thought I should tell you. Now don't freak out but I think you might want to ask her out soon because it looks like there might be a run, what with the soccer team and the football team and and, oh, every jockstrap in the tri-county vicinity having a newfound interest in her. Why? Oh, see, it's a funny story. Yes, I know I have a future as a comedienne.  
  
So maybe sensitivity wasn't her first inclination but she couldn't get over the unfairness of it all. Couldn't Rory see that she was just as much a victim?  
  
Whoa there, Paris, hop off the Me, Me, Me Train. She knew that Rory must be hurting. All the more reason to find-  
  
"Ah, Ms. Gellar. Thinking hard? Must be. The classroom is this way." Mr. Hepworth gestured Paris into the room and just like that, her plans were derailed.  
  
Or were they? Paris waited until after the Modern French Literature teacher had taken roll before raising her hand. In her best Perfect Student With Nothing to Hide voice, she asked to go to the bathroom.  
  
And she meant to come back to class. She really did. After she warned Tristan.   
  
Her Inner Perfect Student was protesting. She was on a downward spiral. She had already missed one class -the first ever. Soon she'd be smoking with the bad girls who hemmed their plaid skirts. Yes, those Bad Girls. The ones whose underwear resembled string cheese both in thickness and in convenience of removal. And all in the name of friendship!  
  
Because she had to admit that Rory and Tristan's friendship was one of the most important things in her life. Not as important as the Franklin or being valedictorian but, still…  
  
"Will Paris Gellar please report to the office? Paris Gellar to the office."  
  
Oh, sweet Cheese-us.  
  
It really was a downward spiral. A road filled with sin and vice and demerits…with a lowered head, Paris turned towards the office.  
  
"Ah, Ms. Gellar." The head secretary's voice was business-like. "Your mother is on the phone."  
  
Paris barely resisted saying that her mother was in Switzerland. Instead, she took the phone and held it gingerly to her ear. "Hello? Mom?"  
  
"Paris!"   
  
Okay, her mom had never been so enthusiastic. Or sounded so…much like a perky Korean teenager.  
  
"La-"  
  
"No, don't say my name. I told the secretary I was your mom because it was really important. Nod your head, okay."  
  
"Yes, mom. I'm listening."  
  
"Dean left about ten minutes ago, we got out of school early because Kirk was a sub today and…nevermind. He's on his way to Chilton. He got this crazy idea that Rory wants him back and they're going to have this huge movie-like Frank Capra pan to the big kiss reconciliation. You have to intercept him!"  
  
"Intercept?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"But…"  
  
"Go! Hang up the phone, tell the secretary you have to do something for your mom."  
  
"How…" Paris was having a hard time processing.  
  
"True Love, Paris. You have to do this, only you have the power. It's like The Never Ending story and you're the kid with the naming and…Paris, you have to got to intercept Dean."  
  
And all of a sudden it was like a light had gone off in Paris' head and she was imbued with all the buoyant force of Lane and she had to listen because she had this prime directive now and she had to intercept Dean. She had to. Tristan could deal with Rory. She had supreme confidence in him. The proof was in the percentages, she'd watched him in action all these years and he had to know how to deal with a angry, betrayed-feeling girl with all that experience. And amor omnia vincit, right?  
  
Right, because if it didn't then Virgil wouldn't have said it. Poets didn't lie.  
  
Paris' head felt lighter. She did a quick review of her priorities and decided that, yes, her skills were best invested in interception.  
  
She headed out to the parking lot, got into her car on automatic pilot. How was she going to stop Dean? If she'd time to prepare she could have made a detour sign. A little paint, a little sheet metal, some flashing lights for authenticity…Focus, Paris. Lane called five minutes ago. Dean left fifteen minutes ago.  
  
If a train leaves Buffalo at five p.m. going West at sixty miles per hour and a floppy-haired ex-boyfriend who doesn't know the difference between stocking and stalking leaves his podunk, yet quaint, town at two-thirty p.m. going fifty-five miles per hour….  
  
He'd be here now. Paris swore as she sighted the clunky green truck turn off the main road and onto Chilton's main drive. She hadn't asked what Dean drove but knew that truck couldn't belong to anyone else, not in this part of Hartford. She started the car. She couldn't let him turn into the wrought iron gates. Could not. She made her desperate decision and buckled her seatbelt. Then she pushed down hard on the gas pedal and tore wildly out of the parking lot. She took her eyes off the road and looked at Dean's face as she passed him. A second only. Then she willed herself to focus. Keep your eyes on the prize. She swerved into his Dean's lane, lined herself up with the truck and closed her eyes as she let the momentum carry her forward.  
  
***  
  
TBC… 


End file.
